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It has been so wet stones glaze in moss;
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fanned clouds project rosy tones;
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her heart springs open like a child’s music box. And out of the box comes
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We cannot live, except thus mutually
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You eat. You look.
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I am on a street corner
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the world is turning
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Like three knowledges,
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Like empty cups of wrought and daedal gold,
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A Wooden way